Finally?
by poppingcorn4u
Summary: Voldemort's P.O.V from the Chapter 'The Forest Again' in the Deathly Hallows:
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer**_: Don't own any characters or story, J.K does! But when I invent a time machine, I will steal Harry Potter and then I will own the series! MWAHAHAHA:)

This is my first fanfic, I am planning to write more on this because I've always wondered what Voldemort was thinking.

This is Voldermort's P.O.V in the chapter 'The Forest Again' in the 7th book; page 562 onwards (Aus verrsion!)

Praying, sitting. He felt many eyes on him. One…Two…Three… He was counting slowly in his head. The Potter boy must come. But yet, he felt, ashamed of himself. Him, thee Dark Lord… Scared, frightened! He sat, the fire was flickering beneath is eyelids. His eyes were closed, hands rested in front of him his long white fingers clasped over the precious elder wand.

For anyone that saw him they would see 'He Who Must Not Be Named' calm in stature, peaceful, composed. But underneath his cool physique was the complete opposite. Conflicted emotions raged within him: anger, sadness, happiness, confusion… Fighting to take control, to consume him. He couldn't realise what he was feeling or why. He was going to finally defeated the one that had won over him so many times.

As a baby, a boy of eleven and twelve, he had survived. At the age of only fourteen, he had survived being tortured and escaped. Escaped from the graveyard, that had been so carefully planned for months. Escaped from the Department of Mysteries and smashed the Prophecy. Survived the night of the Trance. Survived two battles of Hogwarts, at least the old man had fallen in the first battle. He survived in Malfoy's Manor, and when him and his filthy Mudblood and blood traitor companions went to the ministry…

The sound of footsteps broke him from his trance. He opened his eyes quickly and felt his Death Eaters tense and the air became thicker. Looking around he saw no emerald green eyes, in the sea of black. He felt his heart become heavier. Yaxely and Dolohov approached him.

"No sign of him my Lord," whispered Dolohov. He heard his voice quaver, dripping with fear.

He felt his emotions rage within him. He felt the emotion that he hated, the emotion he tried to suppress. The feeling of helplessness. It swallowed him up, constricted his throat. He continued to stare at the fire. The boy hadn't come. What would he do? But he didn't let any of his emotions appear on his face. He had mastered that in the orphanage. Emotions showed that you were weak, they made you weaker, more vulnerable. He opened his mouth to speak and felt everyone around him tense up.

"I thought he would come… I expected him to come." Everyone said nothing, frightened of what he would do to them if they did speak. This was comforting, he was feared and respected by the men, women and creatures around him. The silence was deafening. He did not want to admit defeat, but he, the Dark Lord would find him… Even if it meant admitting what was troubling him.

"It seems I was… mistaken." No-one dared to even breath, this was reassuring.

Suddenly out of nowhere the boy stepped into the clearing.

"You weren't."

The voice was loud, and the words were shouted. But the volume didn't mask the fear in his voice, and his voice broke. This brought great ease to Tom. The boy was frightened of death.

The Dark Lord looked up and examined the boy that stood in front of him. His eyes were full of fear and sweat was dripping from his forehead. There was a strange shape underneath his robes. Voldemort's eyes scanned his hands. To his surprise there was no wand in his hand. The boy would no put up a fight, this was a relief. Yet only a few seconds had passed.

All hell broke lose. His Death Eaters all reacted differently. There was gasps, laughter, cries…

"HARRY! NO!" The giant yelled. But he didn't care, thankfully one of his Death Eaters silenced him.

The boy's eyes were darting, he was sweating and his hands balled up in tight fists. Emotions again splashed through him. Fear… It hit him in the chest. The man in front of him was a Horcrux. A Horcrux he hadn't meant to make, but Potter was. At least Nagini was safe. As long as his serpent lived, so would he.

Fear… it was what stopped him raising his wand and taking the boy's life away. Fear of… dying. Fear for losing yet **another **Horcrux. Voldemort toyed with his wand, to make himself appear in control but he felt frozen with fear. Did Harry have to die? But the Prophecy suddenly came into his mind.

'_Neither can live while the other survives.' _

The emotion was toying with him, the Dark Lord raised his wand. Potter's face filled with fear. But none could fathom what he, himself was feeling. All the while his Death Eaters were still there, but no-one else mattered. Only the boy in front of him. He could practically hear Potter's heart-beating frantically. Beside him Bellatrix was watching him with admiration, her chest rising and falling; as she was panting with anticipation. He pointed his wand at his enemies chest.

The Dark Lord had said these words so often, so quickly; usually with out a second thought, but this time it would take courage. He had to get it over and done with. Voldemort felt all eyes on him, including the bright green ones, which he met. Voldemort tilted his head to the side. Would it work? Would he finally kill the boy? He observed the boy.

Potter's eyes were filled with fear, yet had a slight far away look about them. His lips were parted slightly. Voldemort glanced at Nagini. She looked so beautiful sliding in her magical protection. She filled him with… hope? He had felt emotions tonight that he had never felt before.

"**Avada Kedavr****a**."

There was a flash of green light and Voldemort saw the boy fall. But something happened that had never happened before. Everything was going out of focus. He was falling? Collapsing? He saw Bellatrix's worried face and then there was just darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I don't **sniff** own the series

Thank you so much for reviewing!

He was lying on something, facedown. It was warm, comforting. Gentle light filled his eyelids. He heard something else stir beside him. He tried to call out, but all he heard was a feeble whimper escape his lips. He felt the presence approach him, but it stopped. Why did it stop? He tried to move, to stretch out his arms and legs, but he couldn't. Again, he tried to say something, but he couldn't. He felt strangely… peaceful in this place. No emotions… no… nothing . Just… bliss! The bliss of lying in this oddly warm room.

"You cannot help. Harry. You wonderful boy. You brave, brave man. Let us walk." The first emotion the Dark Lord felt hit him. Fear… Fear had been raging within him all tonight. Never before had he, Voldemort, allowed fear to overcome him like this. For he heard the voice of Albus Dumbledore. Voldemort decided to just stay where he was lying, just to stay and listen.

Questions flooded his mind. Hadn't Severus Snape killed him? But he had. The Dark Lord had seen Dumbledore's corpse. Yes, it was rotting in a coffin. He had opened the tomb and taken the elder wand from his dead body. There was no possible way for the old man to have survived… But that wasn't the thing he feared most. It was the name the man had said. 'Harry'.

Had he not killed the boy? Had he survived yet **again**? But how? Voldemort had sent the curse at his chest. It had hit him. He saw Potter fall in death… Again the cold feeling of fear washed through him, chilling him. The boy had lived? But how… The Dark Lord cleared his mind and tried to listen to the murmuring in the background. How odd. It seemed as if all his emotion, all his fear was gone. It had slowly ebbed away.

"Am I dead?"

There was a nervous edge to the voice and something he couldn't quite say what. Ah… the voice was of the Potter boy. How amusing! It seemed as if they had thought the same thing at the same time. He felt happy. He wanted to laugh, so he permitted himself to. But a strange noise came out. But all the same… He had not laughed out of humour for… for decades! And laughing felt good. He must find some other way to laugh!

But the good feeling had gone as soon as it had come. So the boy wasn't dead… He felt horror sweep through him. But then if he wasn't dead, what had happened? How could it be? He wanted to call out, by he felt the presence (he came to the conclusion that it was Dumbledore and Harry) had moved away. Anger surged up him, like fire, licking his insides, boiling him inside. Anger, why weren't they helping him? He tried to reach for his wand. But couldn't move. Yet, he tried again in vain.

Out of nowhere a thought came. Was the reason he couldn't get his wand was because he was… naked? But how could he be? He was barely, he wasn't human! He thought some more. To his surprise his anger was ebbing away, the pure bliss of this place… it just didn't seem to allow negative emotions! The gentle warmth against his skin. His thoughts vanished, he could hear the distant murmur of voices. They were soothing. Voldemort sank back into the tranquillity of this place.

He allowed his mind to wander. When was he last human? 17 years ago. 17 years ago, his body became a spirit. His body was lost. He was just a lost spirit, wandering. Surviving in snakes, living off rats. Rats! Wormtail… His mind travelled back to the graveyard. Wormtail had carried him, put him in the cauldron, and created the potion.

Voldemort's mind filled with the serenity of the place, and it lead him to a conclusion. He must be like that again! A weak, defenceless being. Yet being naked, he felt no shame. He couldn't really! All he wanted to do was to lie here. To let the welcoming light cover him, to let him rest.

He tried to move, but remembered he couldn't. Yet he could not control the pitiful noises that seemed to escape his mouth, and occasionally he would give an involuntary twitch or movement.

The Dark Lord wanted to try and work out what was happening back… back in the forest! The last thing he could remember was falling and seeing Bellatrix looking at him. His mind wandered. What were his Death Eaters doing now? Had they fled or stayed by his side? A cold feeling that he recognised swept through him. Murder… If some had fled out of cowardness, he would find them. Lord Voldemort would punish them. Them and each member of their family. Then he would… He could even finish the thought. Again, the pure innocence of this place had washed away the dark emotions.

Voldemort allowed his mind to escape for yet another time. He did not want to think what could happen if he had failed to kill the boy, he only thought of the **'bright' **future ahead.

After a while his mind was calm, and the conversation in front of him was becoming more clear. It seemed that Dumbledore and the boy were discussing something. There was a sad tone, a hint of regret and an urgency of longing to… to Dumbledore's voice. The Dark Lord listened hard. He managed to get snippets of the conversation… Hallows… They were discussing a… or the 'Hallows'. But what Hallows? Dread filled him. Hallows. Were Hallows…

The worst thought crossed his mind. In the warm room he body felt frozen. He couldn't even move. He was petrified with fear. Hallows, he had come to the conclusion. These Hallows were obviously a weapon Harry and Albus had. Something that would… that had defeated him. Is that why the boy had… lived? But he cast the terrifying thought away. Again he let himself sink into the idyllic place. It was strange in this place. He couldn't tell if he had been here for hours or even seconds. But it did not bother him. Tom continued to lie there and think.

A peculiar thought came to his mind. Why did he want to stay here forever? Tom did love the serenity and composure of the warm, welcoming room. But he felt, that as not the only reason. Here he was alone. That was it! He was alone. He had been alone for ten years, but here he was not being judged. There was no-one watching him, anticipating his reaction to anything and everything. Where ever he went he was judged. It did not bother him, but he always had an image to maintain. A reputation to uphold. Here, no one could judge him, cast a crictal eye of him.

Suddenly everything started to… to feel more distant. He was falling… NO! He must do **everything **he could to stay in this heavenly place. He wanted to just lie and let the calming light take him away. Just to let him rest, to lie, just thinking, to let the peacefulness take hold of him. He didn't want to go back and face the harshness of reality, the cruelness of humanity, being constantly judged. Everything was fading, going, diminishing…


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **Sadly, I am not J.K. If I was I would write a book of fanfiction!!!!!!!!

I'm sorry but I really don't like my writing in this chapter. I hate my writing these chapter. I may delete it…. The next chapter will be up sometime!!!!

**Sorry for the wait! I've been busy… Hope you enjoy this chapter******** This chapter is dedicated to my friend and EXCELLENT fanfic writer Jess! A.k.a matchmaaker101. You should check out her story!**

**Chapter Three**

Beneath Voldemort's eyelids he could only see black. He was no longer in the serine place, but he was back in reality. He assumed he was lying on the forest floor, as that was where he was last. The forest ground was cold and something was poking against his arm. His wand? The Dark Lord stirred and he sat up. The faces of his nervous, worried, scared and petrified Death Eaters stared back at him.

Bellatrix was still beside him. She offered out her hand. Voldemort felt …….. He wasn't allowed to just lie and let all of his emotions. He was sitting up and a hundred emotions flooded. Him. He suddenly grew anxious… But he regained his stature. He looked at Bellatrix and said coldly,

"I do not need assistance."

Bellatrix quickly redrew her hand, looking nervous. The fact that he ruled with fear, that he was respected out of fear was encouraging. But would they lose respect if the boy… Had survived yet again? At that moment everyone seemed to be thinking the same thing as he heard an intake of breath.

He needed someone to check if the boy was dead. Of course, he, the Dark Lord would not. His emotions were spiralling within him. Apprehension was flooding him. His adrenalin was pumping.

"You check if he's dead."

He pointed his wand at Nacrissa. She shrieked in pain as he sent a curse at her.

For the first time Voldemort observed the boy. His body was sprawled over the ground. His mouth was gaping and left arm was out at an awkward angle. His glasses were skew, and Voldemort could see no movement. This was promising!

Tom heard a murmur of apprehension from his Death Eaters. Why was he sending someone to check if the boy had died? Voldemort would not admit this, but what he had seen (well, heard) in the, the… the room, had made him reconsider if his curse had actually worked.

All this time Nacrassica was inspecting Potter. She stood up. Everyone held their breath. Everyone was silent.

"The boy is dead."

Mixed emotions filled him. Happiness, joy, serenity, calmness, ecstasy and… relief. Relief took hold of him, it washed through him; touching every part of his body. He felt himself loosen up, he felt… No words could describe it… A sudden weight was lifted of him.

It had taken seventeen years for it to happen. He had _finally _killed the boy. It had taken… seventeen years. The boy was dead, murdered! Voldemort saw the boy laying dead in front of him. But yet he was feeling… somewhat… regretful? But why? Harry was dead. But some part of him didn't believe it. All this time, Tom was aware of the fact that all eyes were in him, seeing how he would react. Yet he had comprehended all this in just a few seconds.

Voldemort simply nodded and all his Death Eaters rejoiced.

Flashes of sliver and red filled the air, laughter was everywhere. This sudden joy filled him. But yet there was still uncertainty. Voldemort still wasn't positive that Harry was dead. Dumbledore himself had said that he wasn't. Well… There was only one way to make sure. Tom had to express something out loud to his Death Eaters.

"You see? Harry Potter is dead by my hand, and no man alive can threaten me now. Watch!"

Tom pointed his wand at Potter. Usually wizards needed rage and anger to produce a powerful cruciatus cruse. But he, Voldemort had mastered that many decades ago. Now, he only needed a flick of his wand. But now he would need to produce the most powerful cruciatus cruse yet. Nothing that could stop the boy from yelling out. A curse that would prove if he was feigning death of not.

"Crucio!"

The boys body was lifted into the air. His limp body was being thrown around by the unforgivable cruse. He put the curse on Harry once more, and a final time again. If Potter had been alive, he would've died from the pain. Voldemort was confident that the boy was dead!

Tom's emotions were in control, but one that he felt do often filled him. The feeling of power. He needed to show the fools, the idiots that had not joined him. He would show them what had become of their '_Golden Boy'_.

As this was going on all his deatheaters jeered and laughed. Voldemort knew what he must do next. Tom must show his enemies what he had done. Pride, it was surrounding his insides, filling him up.

At last… He, Lord Voldemort, would take control of the Wizarding and Muggle world.

**Ok, it was really bad..**


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